The Ishmaelite

I am wrong in my flesh for being.

There is no God in my exile, no father, no king.

I am uphill, the river running.

I am backward, I am wrong.

I am the living image of an unholy union.

I am alone in my thinking, ever twisted.

Touch me now with water.

See how dry I have become.

This to laughter, this to sorrow.

This to the infertile, all my tears.

A cup of gall, an angel's vow.

A whisper of sacrifice to come.

I am repentent and unforgiven.

I am what you say I am.

I am what should never have been.